The Thing About Quidditch
by My Wicked Quill
Summary: Harry Potter is a happy man, at least, he considers himself one. He's a handsome Quidditch star, a powerful and accomplished wizard. Volemort is gone, he has great friends and leads a very quiet and quaint life off the pitch and out of the lime light. So why does it feel like something is missing? When all there is to life if Quidditch, isn't that all you need?


The snitch was being unusually cunning, he thought. Flying conditions were also less than favorable, and his goggles were a bit too tight for his taste as well. Aside from the fact that this was all undoubtedly true, for when he would remove them the goggles would most definitely have left red imprints around his eyes, Harry Potter had awoken- as muggles said- on the wrong side of the bed. Therefore he had been in a right mood since the early morning.

This choleric attitude was out of character for the young man, and it was unfortunately affecting his nearly full proof, air born strategy that he had crafted and mastered as a seeker for the Puddlemere United team. The team was doing brilliantly, of course, as they had all season, and not having lost a game yet, the addition of the new seeker- and new keeper- was proving a priceless move for the team. However, this precise match was not unfolding as planned. They were winning, naturally, but they had passed the four hour mark and Harry had yet to spot the snitch.

He always caught the snitch before the hour mark. Even back at his days in school, he had an internal clock and at this match his alarm was ringing, but there was not a glint of gold to be seen. He didn't understand why. It was only drizzling and the wind hadn't become storm worthy, and so he blamed it on tight goggles and the snitch.

Just as he was going to call a time out to adjust the security strap around his head, Harry felt more than heard the humming of the fluttering wings of the golden snitch. A quick glance to his left and there it was, gleaming even brighter in the rain, the nippy golden snitch.

Harry didn't give a second thought to the situation; throwing his body forward, his broomstick zoomed toward the miniature ball. The crowd went wild realizing that the game was over; another win for Puddlemere, meaning it was straight to the play-offs for the unbeatable team It was a rationally safe bet to assume that the moment Harry Potter performed his iconic Wronski Feint, the snitch was going to be caught by him and no one else.

When his hands wrapped around the winged ball it was as though electricity tingled up through his arm, the moment of triumph never ceased to amaze him, Harry always felt other worldly, as though he could do anything, be anything. If during his first eleven years of life he would have known that at 21 he would be soaring 150 feet in the air, on a broomstick, in front of hundreds of devoted fans all yelling his name, perhaps he might have had a more positive outlook on life. But alas, it didn't matter, because after finding out he was a wizard, meeting new friends, becoming part of a family, and not to mention fighting in a war and successfully annihilating the vilest man to ever walk the earth, Harry Potter considered himself a happy man.

Just not on that day.

Catching the snitch in this particular day, however, was not as satisfying as at other matches, and it wasn't because the game itself wasn't a challenge at all- The Applebee Arrows were have a tough season- it was because Harry felt as though something was missing. And so that feeling had been manifesting since waking up on the wrong side of the bed, and snitch finally in his grasp was only a feeling of relief that he would finally be able to go home and sleep.

"That was wicked!"

"Brilliant catch!"

"We did it again!"

Several cheers rang out as Harry touch the ground, it seemed everyone one wanted a piece of Harry Potter. Although not in the mood, Harry smiled and thrusted his palm that held the snitch into the air as Brently Barley and Niam Caselright, the team beaters, boosted him onto their shoulders, cheering as they did so.

"Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter! How does it feel to qualify for the play offs in your first year with Puddlemere?"

"Mr. Potter what are you planning to do once the season ends?!"

"Mr. Potter what is your response to the sweet deal from the Cannons asking you to play for them?"

As expected, the press was becoming relentless. "Okay budge off all of you! Can' you see we are trying to celebrate?" asked an irate Drewson Cawley, chaser.

"Yeah give the man some peace!" yelled Caselright, letting Harry down at last.

Harry almost laughed at the frightened faces of the persistent reporters. But then just as the team began to retreat into the locker rooms as the pandemonium of post match calmed down, the onslaught of the press began again, this time with a slim, blonde woman who was wearing sparkly red spectacles.

"Rita Skeeter from the Daily Prophet, Mr. Potter-"

"Mr. Potter won't be taking any more questions, thank you," interrupted Lomar Zipsum, the team's coach.

"Mr. Potter, the ladies of the Wizarding World are wondering if you ever plan on finding a lady friend, I wanted to record your comment on the article published in Witch Weekly last month insinuating that you play for the other team, and they were definitely not talking about Quidditch."

There was a collective gasp as the group froze. Harry was too affronted to even blush. Had it been any other day he would have flushed and ducked his head, hid from the cameras, and avoided any reporters as always; but that day Harry was just about done.

"Ma'am you should leave before I call security," his voice was so full of malice Skeeter gulped and took a step back.

"ALL RIGHT BACK OFF EVERYONE!" called Lomar.

"Come on mate," said a voice beside the fuming seeker. Ronald Weasley bravely clasped a hand on Harry's seething shoulder and pulled him along with the rest of the team. If there was anything Harry Potter hated more than Voldemort, it was the bloody press. As if his mood wasn't already dreadfully irritated, half the women population in Great Britain apparently thought he was gay.

"Damn my stupidity," he thought, "I was so eager to do anything but hunt dark wizards for once in my life, I chose to dive head first into a career that exploits my every personal detail, true or otherwise."

Harry Potter was not gay.

His life was just too full of Quidditch for dating. Quidditch was all he needed. All he wanted. He was good at it and it made him feel respected and important for reasons other than being a murderer.

Ronald Weasley knew this too; being Harry Potter's closest friend, Ron knew that Harry had no desire to see anyone at the moment. He knew that because he and his fiancée, Hermione Granger, had countless times tried to set Harry up with some nice girls. But each time, Harry either couldn't make it, or found something ridiculously wrong with a wonderful girl.

There was, however, one last idea was plotted in Ron's head. If this last plan didn't work then he would call it quits and leave Harry up to his vices.

"Nice going out there, Harry," Brently laughed, "Nearly gave the woman a heart attack."

Niam nodded, "Well serves her right, accusing out Harry of being a pansy…the audacity!"

"Not that there is anything wrong with that," added Drewson, looking warily over at Harry, "You can tell us, you know, we won't treat you any different."

Zipsum nodded, "Yeah, other than you changing alone in the bathroom from that moment on, it will be like nothing changed."

Ron snorted, but didn't add anything; Harry, for his part, was not in the slightest finding the men's harmless banter enjoyable. "Oh shut it. I'd like to see you being attacked by reporters every waking second for things other than Quidditch. Notice they only harass me!" he finished with a slam of his locker.

Lomar and Drewson's eyes widened as they slowly and hesitantly retreated back to their lockers.

Ron wasn't fazed, "What has your knickers in a bunch today? You just caught a snitch- crack a laugh."

"My knickers are not in a bunch! Am I expected to be in a great mood every single day of the rest of my life!?

"No, it's just you usually are. I wouldn't say great mood, but typically yes, you are usually pretty content."

Harry couldn't argue. Harry Potter considered himself a happy man; there was not a more precise word to describe a man who awoke each morning from a night free of adunting dreams and a grin etched upon his handsome face. No better word for a man living peacefully alone in a quaint but luxurious flat in London, on an athlete's lifestyle and a few great friends on and off the pitch. He read the paper each morning with his cup of tea, and led a comfortable, cautious, and quiet life, when he wasn't on the field. What was there not to be happy about?

"What you need, Harry, is a woman," stated Caselright.

Barley seemed compelled to agree, "It'll take the edge off," he said with a wink.

Harry rolled his eyes and ignored the obvious innuendo.

"They are right, though mate," said Harry's redheaded friend, "'Mione makes me feel a whole lot better, she completes me, and I want that for you too."

"Touching, Ron, really, but I don't need anything but sleep."

"You just don't like change, Potter. One day you are going to wake up and realize you should have been more open to it."

"Sure, Ron."

"Hey, you know my sister is back in England."

Harry Potter had never really met the youngest and only female Weasley. Since attending Beauxbatons, she stayed in France and began a career and life there. He had, however, heard much of her….Ginny.

"Ginny's home?"

Ron smiled, "Yup, just got a new job at the Prophet. She's home for good now."

Harry grimaced, "She's a journalist- great."

"Hey that's my sister you're talking about, and she wants to become an author, but reckons reporting is a steady enough job until she makes it big."

Niam seemed interested, "I didn't even know you had a sister."

"Yeah, she should be here some where, she told me she was coming to our game, so you'll get to meet her, Harry."

"Don't tell me you're going to try to set Potter up with your sister, Weasley."

"What? Is she not good enough for him?"

"Well she's a Weasley…"

"Hey!"

"Ahem," interrupted a voice from the door, the men all turned to see the security wizard from down the hall, "Sorry to intrude Sirs, but Mr. Weasley, you have a visitor."

"Oh no, it must be Hermione. I must be in trouble if she's come all the way back here….don't let her in!"

"My regrets sir, but it isn't Mrs. Granger."

The men seemed intrigued now, "Mystery woman? Go on, let her in."

"Right this way ma'am," he said, allowing the woman to pass.

And then the most beautiful woman Harry had ever laid eyes on walked into the room. His mind went blank and his throat lost all power of speech.

"Weasley, who the hell is this?"

"This mates, is my sister."

Ginny Weasley smiled and took a step to greet her brother. She was short, but curvy in all the right places, she had long and wavy flaming hair that reached her waist, and the deepest brown eyes Harry ever thought possible. But what caught his attention most was the unmistakable Potter jersey she was wearing better than he ever could.

In that moment Harry thought that perhaps he could afford to be a little happier.

Maybe dating wasn't a bad idea after all.

And perhaps…there was more to life than just Quidditch.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you Harry."

At that moment, Harry Potter's mood got a little bit brighter.


End file.
